


The Learning Russian Affair

by koimizu



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, language learning, this comes from a lighthearted plotbunny but
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6406231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koimizu/pseuds/koimizu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Napoleon teases Illya in Russian, and the one time......</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Я тебя люблю"

“How do you say ‘I love you’ in Russian?”

“Why...why would you want to learn that? And why now?” Illya almost spluttered.

Napoleon shrugged, “Why not? This is one of the very first phrases that I'd like to learn in any language. It might come handy some day,” he smirked. “Who knows? Maybe I will meet a lovely Russian girl and decide to confess my eternal love for her.”

Illya glared at him. “Maybe. If we could get out of this cell alive, that is.”

“Come on, Illya. Now, are you going to teach me or not?”

Illya gave him a look, sighed dramatically, then pronounced slowly and clearly,

“Я тебя люблю.”

“ _ya tebya...lyublyu_?”

It was oddly endearing to hear the phrase uttered in a language so familiar to Illya, and in such a timid, hesitant manner; so unlike the Napoleon he knew. Unable to put his amazement into words, Illya simply nodded.

Napoleon grinned smugly, “Brilliant. Now, partner mine, _ya tebya lyublyu_ , so would you be so kind to do this for me?” And with that he explained the escape plan he came up with (which had nothing to do with the phrase whatsoever).

The phrase was put to use again at least twice on that day, when Illya did something especially clever, and when they were finally out of danger. Napoleon was just like a young child who had just learnt a new word, eager to use it whenever appropriate (or not-so-appropriate). Illya threw him a fond but exasperated look each time; His three-month new partner never ceased to surprise him, on the job or otherwise.


	2. Илюша

Napoleon had stopped uttering _that_ Russian phrase every five minutes after that particular affair and didn't make it a habit, for which Illya was immensely thankful.

But his relief didn't last long.

Illya groaned internally when he saw the book Napoleon was holding, on the plane back to New York after a mission two weeks later.

When he asked Napoleon for the dog-eared paperback, _Learn Russian in Three Months_ , the American grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “I got it from the second-hand bookstore around the corner of our safe house. Charming, isn't it?”

Illya eyed the book suspiciously and flipped the pages with feigned nonchalance. Noticing that there were two pages on terms of endearment and diminutives of Russian names, he almost groaned out loud. It took him some self-control to stop himself from tearing those pages off, and he returned the book safely to Napoleon’s hands.

Napoleon spent much of the flight reading the book fervently, as would a mission file; and of course, the dreaded question came as expected.

“So Illya, what exactly is the diminutive version of your name? ...Illya?”

Pretending to be asleep might not help, but Illya decided to do that anyway, attempting to postpone the inevitable as much as possible. Luckily, Napoleon took pity on him and dropped the question, at least for now.

\---

One of the multilingual experts in Section IV must have owed Napoleon a huge favour, because the next thing Illya knew, the smug American was reading aloud a list of different diminutives of his name in their shared office. Those guys really had everything, Illya thought darkly.

“So which one is it? Lyusya? Lleika? Ilko? Ilyushenka? Ilyunka?” Worse still, his pronunciations were terrible.

Annoyed, Illya snatched the piece of paper from Napoleon's hand, and grumbled after a moment’s pause, “It's Илюша, if you must know.”

“ _Illyusha_? I like the sound of that.”

Illya cast him a dirty look, only to found Napoleon smiling earnestly at him.

He sighed. “It was how my family used to call me when I was just a little boy. I'd appreciate it if you don't make fun of it, or use it in front of the others.” UNCLE was an international organization after all, and although actual Russians were rare, there were quite a few Russian speakers, especially in the headquarters.

There must have been something in his expression or his tone, for Napoleon’s eyes softened as he nodded solemnly, “But of course.”

\---

True to his word, Napoleon used the name only sparingly, preferring to use _tovarisch_ and _moi droog_ instead. But the next time Illya ended up in UNCLE Medical, bedridden, heavily sedated and generally broken, he found Napoleon by his bedside, the name penetrating through the mist in his head.

“...my poor Illyusha. What have you done to yourself?” Napoleon seemed to be saying, his concern apparent under his gentle teasing tone, detectable even in Illya's groggy state of mind.

Not bothering to answer or open his eyes (it was too much of an effort, surely Napoleon would understand), Illya simply gave his hand a light squeeze as acknowledgement.

Napoleon chuckled, ruffled his hair and murmured almost affectionately, “You gave me quite a scare there, you know. Now, partner mine, I wouldn't want to rob you of your beauty sleep. Have a good rest, Illyusha dear...”

Strangely, the way Napoleon called him Illyusha somehow had a soothing effect on him (instead of the slight annoyance he usually felt with all those nicknames) as he drifted effortlessly back into sleep, feeling young but protected; something to do with the drugs probably, but he supposed he could live with that.


	3. Ты такой красивый

Napoleon wasn't sure how long he had been locked up; it was pitch black in there, with no way to tell the time. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay awake, either, feeling cold and increasingly weak. But on second thought, sleeping seemed to be a good idea. Why was he here, again? And surely a little break wouldn’t hurt...

Noises from the outside jerked him awake. He opened his eyes unwillingly and saw the light flooding into the cell. He thought he might have caught a glimpse of a familar silhouette framed by the blinding light before shutting his eyes again.

“Illya?” He found his own voice raspy, and weaker than he’d like it to be.

“Napoleon! Here you are.” Illya’s voice, unmistakably. He peeked and saw the golden figure, his partner, kneeling beside him, clever fingers already dancing deftly on the knotted ropes around his wrists.

Relief washed over him as he watched Illya working in dazed amazement. Illya’s hair was dazzling in the bright light, his chiseled profile an epitome of concentration; his Russian white knight in shining armour, coming to his rescue once again...

“Napoleon? Napoleon!”

Snapping to attention, Napoleon blunted out the first thing on his mind, “Ty takoj krasivyj.” _You’re beautiful._

Illya blinked, then burst into laughter. Napoleon scowled.

“Are you sure about that?” Illya smirked as he pulled the untied ropes off his wrists. “Save that for the Russian girl you want to marry, and that would be in feminine form, Ты такая красивая...”

_But I don’t want any Russian girl,_ Napoleon thought irritatedly. _I want... what do I want?_

“Stop pouting. It doesn’t become you.” Illya said drily as he helped Napoleon to his feet, frowning when his hand touched Napoleon’s. Illya’s hand was surprisingly warm.

“Your wish is my command, Illyusha.” Napoleon grinned cheekily in response.

For some reason Illya’s frown deepened, and he touched Napoleon's forehead lightly. “You’re cold.”

“Oh.” Does it matter, though?

“I was saying, do you think you can walk?” Illya’s tone was almost neutral, but he was still frowning.

“I sure can.” He started to demonstrate, but the earth moved around him and he stumbled. Broad hands caught him as he was falling, holding him still. He dropped his head on Illya’s shoulder, trying to anchor himself in the still-spinning surroundings. What a strange embrace they found themselves in, he thought idly, noticing that Illya didn't move or speak, but his hands hadn’t retracted either.

His dizziness subsided after a while, and he raised his head and saw Illya staring at him, his eyes intense with naked concern for a brief moment; but the emotion was soon replaced by calm composure. For his sake, probably? Napoleon felt lightheaded; yet he gave his partner a small smile, hoping to reassure.

Illya tilted his head. “Let's get out of here then. Our rendezvous point is not too far away.”

And with that he draped Napoleon's arm over his shoulder. Napoleon was about to protest, but his own body betrayed him again by leaning onto Illya automatically. He _really_ was exhausted.

“Alright, let's go.” There was amusement in Illya's voice.

Following his partner’s lead, step by step, they left the dingy cell and went out into the light, and Napoleon's mind wandered. This is not unlike a dance, one with simple steps, although he was not used to being led by anyone, in a dance or on the job. But Illya wasn’t just anyone. Illya was his partner. It felt almost natural, to be led by Illya; strangely familiar and surprisingly easy. It went without saying that they trust each other implicitly, in countless missions and in every situation imaginable; and it didn't hurt that Illya was easy on the eyes...

His step suddenly faltered.

“Come on, Napoleon, focus.” Illya’s voice was...hard to define. He nodded hastily, and their steps synchronized once again.

_Where did that come from?_

True, he was not thinking straight; Illya wasn't his dance partner, nothing like that. But now, all he could focus on was...Illya himself; the proximity must have had some effect on him. Illya’s warm body was pressed to his side, supporting most of his weight; a welcome change from the chilly cell, where he was left to rot in the corner. _This is more than pleasant_ , he thought, as he unconsciously snuggled closer for warmth...

Suddenly alert, Napoleon shook himself awake and stood straighter.

“We're almost there...” Noticing his uneasiness, Illya’s tone was gentle and patient, like talking to a child; Napoleon wanted to make a smart comment, but nothing came.

He turned his head slightly to look at his partner. Sensing his movement, Illya mirrored his action, gave him a questioning look, then smiled at him encouragingly, urging him on; it was just a tiny smile, but its gentleness reached his eyes all the same. Napoleon returned the favor, then stared at Illya as he turned his attention back to the road, his blue eyes hardened once again, determined to wrap up the mission and bring him back to safety. It was amazing how Illya’s expressions could convey so much in the matter of seconds, and how much of that could be decrypted by him; Illya, known to be enigmatic, was a study in contrast, and Napoleon might be the only one who could understand him so well...

Napoleon's throat was suddenly tight. _He really is beautiful,_ he thought, leaning on his partner as they walked on, one step at a time.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know any Russian and this fic is not beta'd; so if there's any mistake please do tell me! ;)


End file.
